


Hannigram Necro Snippets

by justlikeyouimagined



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Felating a corpse, Fisting, Gore, M/M, Murder, Necrophilia, Necrophilia Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29587173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeyouimagined/pseuds/justlikeyouimagined
Summary: Compilation of short (under 1000 words, more or less) necro or necro-adjacent Hannigram stories.Individual story descriptions are in the work's notes.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Necophilia Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> The first three snippet stories have been posted previously. I'm compiling like-themed works together for easier browsing and may remove the previous work once that is complete. 
> 
> Ch 1: Necrophilia thoughts. Hannigram. Tags: necrophilia thoughts  
> Ch 2: S3E1 Alternate. Hannigram with Antony. Tags: necrophilia thoughts, murder  
> Ch 3: Necro devotion. Hannigram. Tags: necrophilia  
> Ch 4: Messy. Hannigram. Tags: Necrophilia, gore, felating a corpse, fisting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ch was posted in another work previously; I am compiling like-themed works. New works start on Ch 4. 
> 
> Tags: necrophilia thoughts

Will thinks about them most often in the thick of the night. When their curtains are pulled not quite shut, and the light from the streetlamp lays itself dimly over Hannibal. In sleep, his breaths come so slowly that Will can forgive the shallow rise and fall of Hannibal's chest. He'd feel how warm he is, so he doesn't dare touch. Instead, he imagines. Instead, his fingers skim over the shell of Hannibal's supine body, appreciating how fresh the body still is. He could lace his fingers through theirs and the suppleness would still be there, a body pliable and entirely his own. He worships them, in the near darkness of their bedroom, the way few would have experienced in life. He'd trace the story of their lives with his tongue, take in each scar and pay homage to the pain they no longer have to feel. He'd provide them absolution, he promises in a whisper that chokes in his throat. Along with the longing, there's an emptiness in him, a shame that comes from indulging in the fantasy. Still, when he starts he cannot help to stop himself. On nights like this, the hours slip by like seconds, and the emotions surge until they overwhelm. When Hannibal rouses at dawn, he often finds Will in tears. He wraps his warm, living body around Will, shattering the illusion. It makes the tears come harder. 

Hannibal thinks it's the nightmares. Will doesn't let him believe otherwise. 


	2. S3E1 Alternate. Hannigram and Antony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ch was posted in another work previously; I am compiling like-themed works. New works start on Ch 4. 
> 
> Tags: necrophilia thoughts, murder

Will’s eyes follow Antony’s creeping form. A slick trail of blood divides the room in two, inky in the dimming light. 

“Observe or participate?” Hannibal asks, from the other side of the dividing line.

Will doesn’t hear him beyond the rush of blood behind his ears. He watches Antony’s slow, laborious progression towards the unlocked door. He won’t make it past their doorstep, he knows. Hannibal will break his neck before his hands touch the carved wood. 

The idea thrills him. 

He’ll have hours then, before the body cools, before the meat’s too old to harvest. He thinks about the suppleness that will be left in his skin, how beautifully he’ll bend and bruise under his hand. If he’s careful, he might even be able to wrap Antony around himself and doze, before he starts again. His stomach churns in anticipation.

Hannibal tucks the silk pocket square roughly back into his breast pocket. He steps over Antony’s body and onto Will’s side of the room. 

Will drags his eyes away from Antony, blinking twice in rapid succession. The lurid daydreams that had taken up space in his head flitter away as his attention shifts to Hannibal.

“What?” 

Hannibal looks up at him expectantly. “Tonight. Will I be observing, or participating?” 

Will falters before the corners of Will’s lips curl up into a trepid smile. He reaches out for Hannibal’s lapel and pulls him forward cautiously, as though he doesn’t quite believe he deserves what he is taking. The air trapped between them warms with their breath. He leans in and nips gently at the edge of Hannibal’s bottom lip, then whimpers when Hannibal pulls him closer and deepens the kiss. 

When they separate, Antony is struggling mightily to lift himself and reach the door’s brass knob.

Will’s voice is heavy with emotion. “You’ve never asked to join me before.”

Hannibal’s eyes stay locked on the severe bow of Will’s lips, uncaring that the door has creaked open into the building’s shared hallway. His attention is, and always has been, meant for one man. He deserves more than a silent witness, and who is Hannibal to deny Will anything?

“He said he wanted a party.”


	3. Necro devotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ch was posted in another work previously; I am compiling like-themed works. New works start on Ch 4. 
> 
> Tags: necrophilia

“Ready?”

His attention is divided, split like a headache. He wants to be good, but his mind is already crawling away from where he’s supposed to focus. He pulls himself back long enough to nod, his eyes still straying to the body on the bed.

Hannibal comes over to wrap himself around him, his arms like a cage bracketing him from action. It’s an intentional cruelty, meant to further separate his body from his mind. It works: he feels himself fracture and begin to float towards where he wants to be. 

“Is this how you convince yourself you’re alive?”

He shuts his eyes as the whispered words hit him with the force of a blow. He doesn’t need to reply. They both know the answer. 

Hannibal lets one arm drop, and then the other. “Go on then, show me.”

It’s with a great effort that he pivots and leans into Hannibal’s warm chest instead. Their foreheads press together; he feels the heat of their breath against his lips, on his cheeks. Compare and contrast.

“Beautiful boy,” Hannibal murmurs, then spins him slowly towards where he needs to be.

His approach is cautious, as though the scene before him will ripple and fade as he comes closer. Or perhaps that isn’t it - what he doesn’t trust is himself. He feels too much, his mind too frenzied for the patient thing before him. His steps stutter as he forces himself to breathe. 

“This one is yours,” Hannibal reminds him, watching the uncertainty in the way that he waits. “This one is for you.” He takes the last few steps towards the bed. 

He doesn’t need to understand why he craves this; he only knows that when the bed sags under his weight and he slides in beside the corpse, there’s a buzzing in his mind that just - stops.

His touch is light even when he doesn’t need to be. His fingers play against the skin, he avoids the sutures and rests his hand upon its breast. Nothing. He shifts and replaces his hand with his head, listening to the silence beneath him. His lips brush over the greying skin. Again. Again.

“I love you,” he whispers. To no one. To nothing.


	4. Messy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Necrophilia, gore, felating a corpse, fisting, more felatio

“Bring the next one here,” he says, before he plants a soft kiss on Hannibal’s cheek and closes their villa’s door. 

Hannibal returns within the hour, a large duffle bag thrown over his shoulder, which he lets drop with a thud against the tiled foyer. Will pads in to greet him moments later, dressed for bed in his boxers. 

“Oh,” he says, surveying the dimensions of the bag. “That was fast.”

Hannibal shrugs, though his stomach flips when he catches some wisp of curiosity from his boy. Will nods his head towards the bedroom then turns and makes his way down the hall. 

There’s a tarp laid on the hardwood just at the foot of the bed. Will unzips the bag and tilts his head, examining the body. He knows it'll do; he was careful to make a clean kill. Will motions for Hannibal to help him move it over and onto the tarp. 

When he stands again, he positions himself over the body so that he can crowd into Hannibal, his fingers working open the unnecessarily complicated knot in his tie, then down to undo his vest and shirt. Hannibal doesn’t question Will, not anymore, but moves instead to help them both disrobe. 

For several moments, they cannot untwine, they are too preoccupied with the scent and feel of one another. Hannibal’s fingers move over Will’s skin like he still isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch. Will’s nails scratch and scrape like he is trying to undo the man before him. 

It’s Will that parts first, stepping back and grabbing something sharp from under the tarp.

“A paring knife, Will? Really?”

Will returns Hannibal’s incredulous face. “You’re going to eat it! What does it matter if I stab it with our kitchen knives?”

“It’s not where it’s from, dear, it’s what it’s for. Do you intend to slice him into fine rosettes?”

Will glares at Hannibal before leaning over the body and stabbing the short blade to the hilt into the abdomen. The body is still warm; the heat and stench of its insides hits them both. 

Will loses no time, using his bare hands to widen the gash. The callousness of his actions, the strength in the way his hands tear open the belly, it sends blood to Hannibal’s groin. He watches Will dip his hands into the opened up space until he’s up to his elbows in it. 

He looks up at Hannibal, then reaches up and smears the blood in two long streaks down Hannibal's torso. He dips his hands in the cavern again, this time running them from his own brow to his belly button. What little warmth the body gave the blood disappears and for a second, they are both struck in place, letting the cold air hit against their skin.

“Want you messy,” Will says, breaking the trance. He plunges his hands and arms back in, the squelch and gurgle of the body’s insides shockingly loud in the silence of their home. 

Will wraps his wet hand around Hannibal’s cock. Hannibal sucks in a gasp and steps closer. The red smears over his length, saturates the hair there, drips down onto his leg. Will’s other hand plays with his balls, tugging gently then letting go abruptly so he may encourage Hannibal to widen his stance. As he leaves a red trail across his perineum and towards his hole, Will leans in to lick at the head of Hannibal’s cock.

When Will comes up for air, his mouth is covered. He looks up at Hannibal and slowly, teasingly, licks his lips. 

“Down here now, love,” Will says, directing Hannibal to go onto hands and knees over the body. In this position, his mouth lines up so it is inches away from the body’s flaccid cock. Will moans at the visual, then with a wicked grin, pushes down on the back of Hannibal’s head, coating his greying hair in gore. 

Will’s words are a whisper. “Show me how you suck me off.” He presses harder, whimpering once as he feels Hannibal’s resistance fade.

The meat is lukewarm and limp, a poor substitute for Will’s cock, but Hannibal makes do. He slurps the whole of the thing into his mouth and sucks. He’s hard because he knows Will is, watching him. He moans into the body, lathing the withered cock and balls with his tongue, then lets out another pleased sound as he catches sight of Will crawling around so he’s behind him. 

“I love you. Don’t stop.” His confession is breathy, Hannibal feels it against his ass.

Will dips his arm under Hannibal to slick himself up and then he’s sliding two, then three, then four fingers into the furnace heat of Hannibal’s insides. Hannibal swallows around the limp cock, his eyes shut tight, pushing back against Will’s hand. The meat stretches away from the body, it makes a loud popping noise as Hannibal comes up for a gasping breath. 

They stay this way for a long time, Will re-coating his hands and switching which fingers slip inside Hannibal, sometimes just rubbing around his rim, other times sliding fingers from both hands into the hole, pulling him gently apart. Hannibal keeps sucking the corpse off, because Will wants him to, because he hasn’t been told to stop.

Will rubs his thumb about his stretched red rim, then tucks it into the soft curve of his hand and pushes past his knuckles. Hannibal lets out a cry around the meat; it is ecstasy instead of pain. His lashes flutter and his body sinks into the mess below him, keeping the part so severely connected to Will perfectly still. 

“Look at you,” Will says in awe, as though Hannibal wasn’t aware of every particle in his body. “I love you.” He repeats it, then again, and again, a mantra as he pulls his blood-soaked hand out and then back in. 

When the sensation starts to build, he hums his pleasure around the meat against his tongue, finds that if he dips his hips just enough, he can tease his sloppy cock on the parted lips of the body.

“Do it,” Will encourages, before pushing gently from deep inside Hannibal so that Hannibal’s cock slips in past the teeth.

It isn’t warm or wet or anything like fucking Will’s mouth, but Will groans loudly at what he see and so he pushes in further. Eventually, he has himself pressed completely against the wet warmth of the corpse, his cock slipped deep into its throat. He knows Will likes that because he fists him with more fervor, his tongue slipping in when he pulls out so that he’s never left empty. 

Will murmurs encouragement to Hannibal, pressing with one hand down on his ass so that Hannibal grinds his cock into the tightness it finds deeper within the body. He sucks the corpse off the way he wishes Will would do to him. He feels full like he might burst and yet still, like this he is unable to chase any real release. He thinks that’s by Will’s design, and it keeps him achingly, frustratingly hard. 

Then suddenly it isn’t Will’s hand in him, but his cock, his hole gaping around it before it adjusts to the new girth. Will leans over Hannibal, covering him and making him sink into the cavity below. As Will fucks him with quick, measured strokes, he pushes Hannibal’s head into the body. Will lets out a wanton noise when Hannibal lets himself choke, trusting that Will won’t let him suffocate on the meat. 

Will bites hard against his shoulder, then comes with a shudder. They sink deeper into the body below; Hannibal feels the bones creak with the full weight of the two men atop. Hannibal doesn’t stop himself from continuing to grind himself inside the mouth; Will lets out an overworked huff of laughter into his ear, swiveling his hips the way he knows Hannibal still craves. 

When they finally pull up and Hannibal comes to stand, his torso is dripping. Will groans his appreciation and sinks down onto his cock, his hands sliding up his stomach to pinch and tug at his nipples. The way he sucks, the heat of his tongue and his mouth: it’s too much. Hannibal pulls out and strokes himself a final time before adding to the mess all over Will’s face. 

Will looks up, licking absently at what he can reach. “Baby, thank you.” he says, his hands not stopping to rub over Hannibal’s body. “Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I often post these in full or as snippets on @trikemily on twitter.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] Short Hannigram Snippets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29045655) by [metencephalon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/metencephalon/pseuds/metencephalon)




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